


1951's miracle

by Tori_Aoshiro



Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Bittersweet, Christmas, Clueless Humans, Emmett's human family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Goodbyes, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Rosalie Hale is good with kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 22:45:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14963630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tori_Aoshiro/pseuds/Tori_Aoshiro
Summary: Moira had a normal life, three beautiful kids, two living brothers and a loving husband. She was holding steady in that small town where she had lived all her life, and would live for the rest of it too. It was peaceful, predictable. What wasn't were the two beautiful strangers, one of which was a little too familiar, who brought her a very special gift, on that christmas eve 1951.





	1951's miracle

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Today, I'm presenting you this little one-shot I wrote for my good friend Mylène and her love for the Cullen family. I hope you will enjoy as well!

It happened on Christmas Eve, in the afternoon. The sky was cloudy but it hadn’t snowed yet. I had left the kids at home to take care of some last-minute grocery shopping. David had closed the shop early so he could take care of them and make sure they wouldn’t find the presents hidden under the dresser. I left the market, a duck under one arm and a bag filled with turnips and potatoes under the other when a young stranger called out to me.

I knew she wasn’t from around here. I had spent my whole life in that little town lost in the east of Tennessee. Gatlinburg. Not much to see here, except for the salt shaker factory and the railroads. There was the forest too. I like to think there are much worse places to live in. Like Russia. But I had to admit it couldn’t be more different from cities like Los Angeles or Seattle. So it was strange to meet a young woman like her.

She was about eighteen, and had long fair hair expertly curled, perfectly tamed and shiny like she was just stepping out of a hair salon. Her face had a perfection you would only find in haute couture catalogues and some Hollywood actresses, though her beautiful goldish-brown eyes were underlined with horrible dark rings. Her make-up was on point, her lipstick was the exact same color as her crimson sheath dress in the latest fashion. Over it, she was wearing a coat matching her buckskin boots, and with that, black tights and gloves, the image of a rich bachelorette. She had waved at me from the opposite sidewalk, like I would imagine her hail a taxi in some fancy New-York district, and before I could think of asking her what she wanted instead of just standing there like an idiot with my bags in my arms, she had already crossed the road to join me. “Excuse-me, ma’am, hello. Could you help me? You are from around here, aren’t you?”

“Uh…” I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling very scruffy in my old winter dress.

“Do you know if there is another hotel in town?” she asked, pointing at the Johnson Inn behind her. “We couldn’t book a room, it seems it doesn’t have room left for tonight.”

“Oh! Yes, on the other side of town, there is the Leconte Motel that might have room for you.” I held my groceries tighter and pointed my head at the main street. “It’s about fifteen minutes away by car, on your left after the library.”

“Ah, would you take us there? I have no orientation skills…”

“Uh… Well, you see…”

“Oh, of course!” she exclaimed, lifting a hand to her lips in a precious gesture. “Let me help you first.”

She reached out for my vegetable bag and took a hold of it from the bottom. I hesitated a little before letting go, this girl looked like she had never carried anything heavier than a handbag her entire life, but she lifted the enormous sack like it weighted no more than a pillow. Then she turned around and cried out with a smile, “Em! Are you coming darling?”

A young man in his twenties appeared from the corner of the opposite building and, for a moment, I felt like I was falling. He had black curly hair, a beautiful, sweet face and a charming smile framed with child-like dimples. It was innocence stuck on a huge, strong, massive body that looked like it could single-handedly carry the world on its shoulders, like it could put arms around you and protect you from everything.

“Hey, are you alright? You look pale, do you need to sit down?”

The girl’s voice brought me back to my senses. She had taken advantage of my weakness to take the duck and was supporting me with her shoulder. I shook myself, trying to get a grip. “Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

The young man was getting closer. In spite of the cold, he was only wearing a vest over his beige shirt – I realized it matched the girl’s coat. His pants were a bit too large, but it didn’t look like bad taste on him. He stopped a few feet away from me and smiled softly, almost shyly, looking away now and then. Heavens, his teeth were so white! The girl went to stand by him with my groceries and they exchanged a quick kiss.

“This is Em, my husband,” she said, then added like an afterthought: “And I’m Rosalie.”

“Moira, nice to meet you,” I answered in a mechanical tone I didn’t recognized. I immediately apologized.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he said. His voice turned into shivers running over my spine and I reflexively ran a hand over my forehead.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry. You remind me of someone, I was surprised, that’s all.” I drew in a shaky breath, trying to calm down, and smiled at them like it was nothing. I reached out for my groceries. “Won’t you…”

“No, of course not, let us help you bring this back home, we’ll see where we go from there.” She spoke with a voice that didn’t tolerate backtalk, and I wasn’t feeling up to talking anyway. So I showed them the way as Rosalie carried my groceries, more dignified and graceful with her burden than I had ever been.

I didn’t live very far, three blocks away from the marketplace, in the same old house I was raised in along with my brothers. When we got there, I saw Connor and Mary playing soccer with their father on the lawn. They stopped as they saw me with the two beautiful strangers. David joined me and his gaze hinted at me that I was still very pale. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?”

“Hello, you must be Moira’s husband?” Rosalie enquired with a large smile.

“Yes?”

“She wasn’t looking so well, so we walked her home,” Em explained, reaching out a hand that David shook. “I’m Em and this is my wife, Rosalie.”

“David. Jesus, aren’t you cold?” He snaked a hand around my waist and held me close, kissing my temple like he usually did when I was sick. It made me smile. Then he let go to grab the groceries Rosalie handed him. “Let me take care of this. Good lord, this weights a ton, come in, warm up, I’ll give you something as thanks. Come on honey, you should sit down a little.”

I followed him inside and fell onto the living room’s couch as he guided our two unexpected guests to the kitchen. I let out a sigh and closed my eyes. I was still shaking.

“Mommy?”

“It’s alright sweetie,” I answered to Connor’s voice.

Tiny hands touched my arm and, blindly, I guided my son onto my knees. I opened my eyes to see Mary sitting next to me. “Where is your sister?”

“In her room,” Mary said. “Who are these people?”

“A couple I met at the market.”

“Will they stay for Christmas?” Connor asked excitedly. He probably thought they were two actors. For a few years now, my son had developed a passion for movies.

“I don’t think so sweetheart.”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed.

I ruffled his hair and pushed him. “Why don’t you go ask them? You never know.”

He immediately jumped from my lap and ran to the kitchen with a kind of energy you only find in boys his age. Mary stood as well and left. As for me, I sat for a few more minutes, trying to organize the memories and emotions stirring up my brain.

David and Connor happily came to tell me that Em and Rosalie were staying for the night. Apparently, their car was down and, since they hadn’t booked a room, they had conceded to Connor’s request to spend Christmas with us. “They’ll sleep in Emmett’s old room, alright?”

“Alright.”

Connor innocently asked if they could sleep in his room instead. I changed the subject by offering him to go find his sisters so they could build that gingerbread house he’d been talking our ears off about since November. He scrammed and I laughed softly.

“Are you sure you are alright?” David asked gently and I kissed him.

“Yes, I’ll tell you all about it later, promise.”

Em and Rosalie proved to be very good company. Rosalie immediately fell in love with my two youngest kids and was pleased to help them decorate the gingerbread house as I cleaned the cups she and Em had barely touched. However, she was a lot colder with my older daughter, Carol, who was about her age. They had stared blankly at each other when they met in the corridor, and were now ignoring each other, like under some sort of silent deal slightly superficial girls make when they find a rival to their beauty.

Em though, he got along with everyone. He fooled around to amuse the kids, talked about parties with Carol and sports with David. He asked questions, so many questions, and hang onto every word you’d tell him, staring at you with his beautiful, his strange golden eyes. He knew every name right away, told jokes and laughed at everything. God Lord, his laugh. Every time he laughed, it was like I was stabbed in the chest. I had to leave the room several times that night, to steady my breath and pull back the tears trying to escape my eyes.

When Keith came back from work, he stopped like I had before the two strangers. He greeted Rosalie quickly and looked Em up and down. His breath quickened under his thin lips, like he was angry, but his eyes shone. He was magically able to pretend nothing was wrong when Carol, Mary and Connor came to say hi to their uncle, and stayed polite, although quite cold, with our two guests. At least, until Em managed to make him talk about duck hunting during dinner; after that, he was a lot more talkative and friendly.

Mom didn’t notice anything when I called her out of her room for dinner. Or rather yes, she did think our guests were lovely and kept calling Em “Emmett”, even when we tried our best to correct her. After the eleventh time, Em ended up telling us to stop and let my mother call him “Emmett” for the rest of the evening. I drank a little more wine than deemed reasonable for a mother and wife.

My roasted duck was a success, as was the Christmas pudding. Connor was picky about the turnips, so I let him sort his vegetables for once. However, Em and Rosalie barely ate anything. Rosalie said they were following a strict diet because of a specific genetic disease they shared. En said they only ate rare meat, and burst out laughing when Rosalie kicked him under the table. It was a joke we couldn’t understand.

Dinner ended and it was time to go to sleep. I took care of the dishes as David tucked the kids into bed and Keith took care of Mom. The former would probably wait for me in our room, and the later would fall asleep as soon as his head would touch the pillow, worn out by his day of hard work. I suggested at our guests to go to sleep as well – they needed it with those dark circles. You’d wonder what youngsters did these days, to be so tired.

However, when I went to the living room to take the presents out and put them under the Christmas tree, Em was still up, standing before the dresser. I could only see his back in the glow of the fireplace.

“Why aren’t you in bed?”

He didn’t show the slightest surprised start when I spoke, as if he had felt my presence. “I’m not tired and I wanted to look at the pictures.”

I walked up to him slowly and came to stand beside him. The top of the dresser was like a small alter. There was a cross nailed to the wall, next to a picture of my father. Beneath it, displayed on the wooden surface, three frames. On the right, a young man in a soldier’s uniform. In the middle, four little boys sitting on the porch. The youngest was eight, holding a baby in his arms. And on the left… It was him. “My brothers,” I told him.

My voice caught in my throat, but he nodded with an almost tranquil smile. He took the middle picture and pointed at the baby. “That’s you, right?”

“Yes.” I took the picture and ran my thumb over the frame. “I think I was barely one.” I pointed at the twins on the right. “That’s Keith and Daly, the older ones.”

“Keith has a twin.” It was not a question.

“Yes. He died on the battlefield, during the World War.”

He looked at the soldier’s portrait, on the right. It looked like Keith, but it was the last picture we had of Daly. They shared that kind of look, like an old bear trying not to laugh. I missed Daly. He was buried in the local cemetery, and there was his name on a memorial. 

Em looked serious, which didn’t suit him at all. His face was meant to smile. Then he turned to the frame I held and pointed at the third boy. “What about him?”

“That’s Oney. He stayed in the army. He’s fighting right now, in Vietnam.”

He nodded, mouth slightly open. Slowly, like he was unsure, he pointed at the youngest boy, the one holding me in his arms with a pure and naïve smile. “What about him?” he breathed.

“Emmett,” I croaked. I had to clear my throat before continuing. “He went hunting alone, once, when I was fourteen, and we never saw him again.” There were grizzlies in the forest, it was easy to understand what had happened.

Tears rose. I was always more sensitive when I was a little drunk. I set the picture down and took the one on the left. The one where he was smiling widely in his old lumberjack outfit.

I felt Em’s hand on my shoulder. It was cold, despite the fireplace, but it held me with that comforting gesture no one had been able to imitate since he was gone. Tears ran down my cheeks before I could stop them. “I’m sorry,” I whispered immediately. “It’s just… You look so alike. He was your age and… And he had your face and…”

A sob cut through my words. He held me close. Em was almost exactly like Emmett, down to the child-like, pure, innocent smile he had been able to keep until the day he disappeared. Even his voice sounded the same. Yet Em had something more, an aura, like he had nothing to fear, nothing to prove. “You were close, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

A smile pierced through my tears as I remembered my life. Emmett was always a little rebel, a little wild. He’d leave for a drink in the evening and smelled of smoke when he came back. Sometimes, he wouldn’t come back all night. As for me, I was a little miss perfect, who cleaned the dishes and learned how to patchwork with my mother. But he’d fool around with me and make me laugh. He had made me try some whiskey for the first time, behind our parents’ backs. He had shown me where the presents were and how to know what was in them without tearing the wrapper.

“I’m sorry,” I heard Em whisper, and my tears poured harder because I could only hear Emmett.

“I miss you, Emmett,” I whispered. “I miss you so much. The world needed you, you had to live, you had to be there, but you’re not. I love you, you know. I love you so much, so much…”

I held him closer and kept weeping for my brother on that beautiful stranger’s shoulder.

I don’t know when I fell asleep, but when I woke up, I was in bed, next to David. Connor was up and wanted to open his presents.

I let David take the kids to the living room. I went to Emmett’s former room and opened the door gently. Em and Rosalie were gone without a trace. The bed wasn’t even messy.

I looked through the entire house without finding them. David reasoned they probably left early as to not bother us. Connor pouted because I couldn’t say bye.

As for me, I didn’t say anything. They were just a couple of strangers we had spent Christmas with and wouldn’t ever meet again. Life went on without a ripple in the fabric of time.

However, that night was marked in my memory. I had been able to bid my brother farewell. And that was my very own Christmas miracle.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking advantage of this story to inform you that I've officially started doing writing commissions!  
> You can find all the information on my tumblr blog : https://torisfeather.tumblr.com/commissions-eng  
> I can translate or write fanfiction and original fiction of your choice, so don't hesitate if you like my writing and need my help!
> 
> Okay, that's all folks, I hope you enjoyed and that you'll be here for my next stories! Bye!


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